Going for Broke
by Adaon
Summary: eventually he came to a question. For the past five years he had managed to go straight, he didn't even exceed the speed limit anymore, would he really throw that all away now? He already knew the answer.


part 1:

The scorching desert sun burned brightly through the Nevada sky. It's radiant heat pounded from all sides as a tall man, wearing his typical green sweater walked along the asphalt of the parking lot at University Medical Center. He paused momentary to look up at a window, knowing the occupant of the room, she probably was not awake yet to notice his coming, but she did need her rest.

Without a sound, he continued forward to enter the building and step on to the elevator. Some of the volunteers at the desk looked up to notice him, then returned to what they were doing. He had spent more time in this hospital then many who worked their, there was no doubt he knew where he was going.

The elevator reached the 5th floor and he quietly stepped out. The floor was quiet as always, some would call it gloomy, but to him such labels were irrelevant. He paused outside her door, all that mattered to him was that his sister was on the other side, slowing dying of cancer.

Before he entered, a voice from behind called him. "Mr. Barton, if I could barrow you for a moment." The voice belonged to the hospital's chief administrator Carl Johnson, one tended to meet the higher ups when they have already put up a million dollars to cover treatment-related expenses.

"Mr. Johnson." His greeting was kept sharp and simple, the same way he did almost everything while at this hospital. It was not his favorite place to be, but he was determined to be by his sister's side. The two walked to a waiting room that was further down the hall, it was there to let family wait while less pleasant tasks were done. Trowa quickly assessed the man, it was what he did for a living. Shoulders were tense, his breathing rate was up, whatever this was about, Mr Johnson was worried. That fact made Trowa a bit uneasy, it meant this conversation was likely to turn too money.

"Mr. Barton, you know are hospital is very glad to have your sister as a patient, and do to all we can for her..."

Trowa interrupted, he didn't want to have more of his time wasted when he could be in the room doing, well something, anything was better then this. "Why don't we just skip ahead to the 'but'."

Johnson gave a brief half nod of his head, "of course. When your sister was admitted, you were very generous in the deposit you but up." He paused to take a deep breath, then let out a small sigh. "However, that money, and more, has already been spent. New experimental treatments, outside expert assessments and lab tests, it all costs, well, a substantial amount."

"Bottom line?" He was answered by silence, Johnson was not even looking him in the eyes. Outwardly Trowa gave no reaction, inwardly, well it was bad, whatever the number, it was very bad. "Well?"

"After the initial million, to date expenditures are in excess of $500,000. As you know, the doctors project her too have 8-10 months, continuing at the current pace... Well, we need you to put up another 2 million."

"I don't exactly carry that much in my pocket." A sharp cold reply, inwardly he felt like he would break apart, 2 million, it was almost impossible...

"We understand Mr. Barton, and because of your past generosity and understanding in these matters, we want to be as cooperative as possible. However the 'bottom line' as you put it, we need that money in the next six weeks, or your sister's treatments will have to be cut back to standard. I'm sorry for any inconvenience this may cause you sir, but I do have to look out for the interests of our whole hospital and all it's patients."

"I understand." With that he walked back toward his sister's room, outwardly, he gave no reaction, he wouldn't, no one would see anything abnormal. But knowing he had no way to come up with that money, he silently made an appointment with a bottle of scotch. The reality was he had no idea what he could do from here. So he did what he always would, went in and sat by his sister's side.

Part 2:

At a quiet cemetery in southern California, a man was standing silently looking over one of the tombstones. His hair was pulled back tightly as was his custom, his gaze shifting from the name etched in stone to look up at the sky. It was dark, the skies rumbling as if with some anger. It suited him well, it was as if the sky was reflecting his inner self at that moment.

"One year women, one year." He closed his eyes and thought back to that night. He told her not to do it, that taking such a job was dishonorable. But it fell of deaf ears, her mind was made up, and nothing would stop her at that point. She had her reasons, namely the money. No, not because she was greedy, because she was generous, almost to a fault. "You always felt guilty about being here while others in our clan were home without enough food. But in the end, did you really change anything?" The man had promised her much, a million dollar donation to charities aiding their ancestral homeland in China. But even more, he knew people, men of 'power', politicians, who could make sure the starving in China got billions. "It was never about yourself, it was about making things better for those who weren't as fortunate as you. But what happened? As soon as the painting was his, all promises were forgotten. He never meant a word of what he said. And when the painting's owner found out what happened, when he realized he was holding a forgery, did he care what you had been promised by who? No. He just wanted to make an 'example' of you."

He turned his eyes back to the stone, seeing the name Meiran Chang carved in it. "Now who fights for the orphans, who stands up for justice now that you are gone? Was it worth it women, all over a stupid painting and empty promises." His voice began raising in tone and volume with his furry. "You hear me women? Answer me! Was it worth it?"

His furry subside, as it always did. His breathing slowed as it always did. He promised her justice, as he always did.

--

In an office building located in silicon valley, a blond haired man was handed a folder in silence. In science he read it, then closed it. He gave no reaction, his anger would be dealt with another time, for now he had a company to save from a hostile takeover.

--

Within walking distance of the UMC hospital sat a small dinner. It was a place Trowa had come to frequent over the past months. He was prompt every day, 5:30, and 10:30. He would beat both the morning and lunch hour crowds. It would let him sit in silence, drink his coffee, and be alone with his thoughts.

_Two million for the hospital, another three for my poker debts, how can I come up with that kind of money? The world series is coming up, but I would need 100,000 bankroll and there are still no guarantee, too much luck in tournaments. And besides, I set foot in a casino doors and the big game players are going to want their money..._

He was back where he started from, no income, massive debts, and little hope. The bell hooked to the front door of the dinner rang out, announcing a new entry, which was odd for this time of day, but not unheard of. But what was unusual was when the man, dressed in a black suit, sat down across the table from Trowa, who looked the man in the face to establish contact, then went back to looking at more interesting matters, such as the ant crawling up the outside of the window he was looking out of.

"Mr. Barton, I have been told you are a man of few words, so I'll get right to the point. My employer is aware of the fact that you need money, and soon. He has a business proposition he would like to discuss with you. Bring this appointment card-" he slid a small business-card for Treize Khushrenada, V.P. of Rio Casino operations for Harrah's entertainment across the table, "-to the management offices of the Rio tonight after you leave the hospital."

With that the man got up and left, Trowa shortly after, with the card safely tucked in his wallet.

(a/n The Rio is the casino that now hosts the WSOP, that will be a significant detail later on)

--

part 3:

After stepping out of his car, Trowa paused to look at it, in a touristic way, it was funny how much his life had changed. Last year he was on top of the world after winning the tournament at Bay101, he showed up at the world series and for the first time in his life had the car valet parked. Now he didn't even have the Viper anymore, it had been sold months ago when he needed money. Now he was reduced to driving a six year old four cylinder business class car, pretty soon he would probably have to sell it and start taking the bus.

Turning away from the car he continued his trek to the Rio offices, to be honest he wasn't sure what this was about. The only thing that came to mind was that maybe they were going to offer him a job as "Poker Ambassador" to compete with the Wynn Casino. Too bad he didn't have the bankroll to play those heads-up matches or he might take it. But at the very least it was worth hearing out the offer, at the moment he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He arrived inside, showing his card to one of the staff they directed him on where to go. He walked through the floor, seeing people make sucker bets at the Roulette table, a card counter being told to leave at the blackjack table, and of course the hundreds of slot machine players that were probably the biggest suckers in the room. Eventually he was brought to the office area, and patiently waited while it's occupant finished a phone call. Khushrenada motioned with his hand for Trowa to sit, so he did. The phone call was finished and so it was time for business to begin.

"First let me give you my congratulations on winning that gold bracelet last year. I'm sorry you didn't get to play any other events, it was a shame to see you taken away from the tables when you were at the top of an upswing."

"As much as I would liked to have played, I put my family first."

"Of course, that's one of the reasons you are so well liked in the poker world, that and people like a winner. But then again, you are not exactly on a winning streak lately are you?"

Silence was his only reply, along with a look of general annoyance.

"But let me get to the point, I am aware of your talents."

"You and about 4 million other people."

"I'm not referring to your poker playing."

"I haven't done serious acrobatics in years, so you'll have to forgive me for not finding that relevant to anything."

"That was not what I was referring to either, not entirely at least."

Trowa's face notably darkened. "If you are trying to blackmail me, I hate to burst your bubble but-"

"There is nothing to blackmail you for. But I assure you that is not my intent at all."

"I want you to put those talents to use."

"I'm retired."

"You need the money."

"I'm done with that part of my life."

"You have no other way to get that much money. And I am talking about enough to cover ever medical bill from now until your sister lives to be a hundred."

Trowa had nothing to say in response.

"Let me be a little more specific, I'm talking about you leading a team, one you hand-pick, any size and skills you want."

"How much?"

"$125 million, to split however you see fit."

"How do I know this is legitimate?"

"You don't seem to have much choice."

"You are asking me to throw away years of work to get out of that life, I'm not going to do that lightly."

"I understand, go home, sleep on it, go see your sister tomorrow, then come see me and give me your answer. Good day Mr Barton."

They stood, shook hands and Trowa left. Walking down the hallways he was consumed by his thoughts. And eventually he came to a question. For the past five years he had managed to go straight, he didn't even exceed the speed limit anymore, would he really throw that all away now?

He already knew the answer.

(a/n the gold bracelet is a reference to winning a World Series of Poker event. For those keeping score that means Trowa won two major poker tournaments a couple of months apart. For the right two events that would be worth just over $2 million.)

--


End file.
